If You Could See Me Now (44 page)

Elizabeth looked down at the
floor
to a toddler who was playing with one of the many toys scattered throughout the room. She was about to bend down to talk to the little girl, when she noticed that the girl was speaking to herself. Carrying on a very serious conversation in fact, she was introducing herself to mid-air.

Elizabeth looked around the room, breathed in deeply, and tried to smell that familiar Ivan smell. “Thank you,” she whispered, closing her eyes and imagining him with her.

The little girl continued babbling away all by herself, looking to her right as she spoke and listening before speaking again. And then she began to hum, that familiar song that Elizabeth hadn’t been able to get out of her head.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but throw her head back and laugh.

I stood at the back wall of the playroom in the new hotel with tears in my eyes and a lump so huge in my throat I didn’t think I’d ever be able to speak again. I couldn’t stop looking around at the walls, at the photo album of all I had done with Elizabeth and Luke over the past few months. It was as though someone had sat in the distance and painted a perfect vision of us.

Looking at the walls, at the color, and at the eyes of the characters, I knew that she had realized, and I knew that I would be remembered. Beside me, standing in a line at the back of the room, my friends joined me for moral support on this special day.

Opal placed a hand on my arm and gave me an encouraging squeeze.

“I’m very proud of you, Ivan,” she whispered and planted a kiss on my cheek, no doubt leaving a purple lipstick stain on my skin. “We’re all here for you, you know. We will always have each other.”

“Thank you, Opal, I know that,” I said, feeling very emotional and looking to Calendula, who was on my right, Olivia, who was beside her, Tommy, who was looking around the walls in fascination, Jamie-Lynn, who had bent down to play with a toddler on the ground, and Bobby, who pointed and giggled at each of the scenes before him. They all gave me the thumbs-up and I knew that I would never be truly alone, as I was in the company of real friends.

Imaginary friend, invisible friend, call us what you like. Maybe you believe in us, maybe you don’t. The point is, it’s not important. Like most people who do truly great work, we don’t exist to be talked about and praised; we exist only to serve the needs of those who need us. Maybe we don’t exist at all, maybe we’re just a
figment of people’s imaginations, maybe it’s just pure coincidence that children of the age of two, who can barely speak, all decide to start making friends with people only adults can’t see. Maybe all those doctors and psychotherapists are right by suggesting that they are merely developing their imagination.

Or humor me for a second. Is there possibly another explanation that you haven’t thought about for the entirety of my story?

The possibility that we do exist. That we’re here to help and assist those who need us, who believe in believing, and who can therefore see us.

I always look on the positive side of things, I always say that with every cloud there’s a silver lining. Truth be told, and I’m a
firm
believer in the truth, for a while I was struggling with my experience with Elizabeth. I couldn’t
figure out what I had won, all I could see was that my losing her was one big black stormy cloud. But then I realized as every day went by, and I thought about her every second and smiled, that meeting her, knowing her, and above all loving her, was the biggest silver lining of all.

She was better than pizza, better than olives, better than Fridays, and better than spinning, and even these days, when she is no longer with us— and I’m not supposed to say this—but of all my friends, Elizabeth Egan is
by far
my favorite.

Acknowledgments

Infinite thank-yous to my family: Mimmie, Dad, Georgina, and Nicky for
everything
—I couldn’t narrow that down if I tried. To David, the best coffee-maker around, thanks for checking on me every few hours and for believing so passionately in this book. Huge thanks to the endlessly encouraging you-knowwhat agent Marianne for the buns, tea, and advice; and thank you, Pat and Vicki at the you-know-what agency, for taking care of you-know-what. Thank you, Peternelle, and all at Hyperion, for your faith in me and for all your hard work.

To my readers, old and new, I hope this is as good for you as it was for me—an absolute joy to work on.

Most important, thanks to Ivan for keeping me company in my office until all hours.
Do you think they will ever believe our story?